


Rectrix

by Nadler



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Wingfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21724507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadler/pseuds/Nadler
Summary: There are expectations on a fifth-round pick in Dallas. He's supposed to follow in the captain's footsteps or something, beat the odds. They'll give Nick every chance to succeed, and they expect him to get his wings very, very soon if it turns out that he's one of the special ones. Every NHL player gets their wings once they've made it, and it's different from some than others. There's players who get their wings before their rookie lap, and there's players who get their wings in the middle of a journeyman career.
Relationships: Nick Caamano/Roope Hintz
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26
Collections: Hockey Holidays 2019





	Rectrix

**Author's Note:**

  * For [marmolita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marmolita/gifts).

There are expectations on a fifth-round pick in Dallas. He's supposed to follow in the captain's footsteps or something, beat the odds. They'll give Nick every chance to succeed, and they expect him to get his wings very, very soon if it turns out that he's one of the special ones. Every NHL player gets their wings once they've made it, and it's different from some than others. There's players who get their wings before their rookie lap, and there's players who get their wings in the middle of a journeyman career. 

You get your wings when you make it for real, and Nick doesn't, like, know if he's supposed to know when they're coming in and give a heads-up. Coming up from juniors, no one's told him what happens when your wings come in. Is he supposed to _ask?_ There's no timeframe for when the wings come in, is what he learns. Nick's going to get there, tell his grandkids that he's done that and gotten the wings to show for it. 

Maybe Nick should have been more surprised at the Stars room being a wings-out, dicks-out kind of room, but all he does is keep his head down. He knows some of these guys, from last year, but everyone seems to have a group already. He guesses Dowls and Hanny are his crowd. There's also, like, Denis and Roope, who seem untouchable and everyone knew they weren't going to come back to the A last year. They fold in with the Russians and the Finns and the rest of the Euros really easily, and while Gards came up with him, Nick feels very out of his element. 

Gards just laughs at him. "We're not the only ones without wings, you know," and Nick's head swivels over to where the other young guys are, and he wants to ask, _who_.

Dowls taps Nick on the head.

"What, Cap--" and Nick catches himself. "Shit." 

"Not your captain here," he says, gently. "Don't let Jamie hear. He might be sad." 

Dowls shakes out his wings. There was about a whole damn month where he was molting all over HEB Center. Anyone getting their wings is special. A rookie getting his wings is pretty damn special. Miro got his wings during training camp, and it was all over the news. Dowls, though? He showed up and joked and was their captain, and he has his wings now, tawny and tinged with the accent gold of the old uniforms at the edges.

Jamie Benn's wings are black, and Nick thinks he can see a hint of green in the light. 

There's a mix of wing colors in the room. It doesn't really mean anything, but there's a part of Nick that thinks maybe it does? Because colors are important, but also colors can come and go with a rebrand, so it's out of Nick's control. It's not like anyone chooses what color wings they have. It's a lot, to see the colors in the room. 

"Hey kid," Seguin says, and Nick swears he wasn't looking that hard, and oh god Tyler Seguin just _noticed_ him, and he's miles above what Nick is as a player, and fuck Nick is on a team with Jamie Benn and Tyler Seguin and Alexander Radulov-- "You have something to say to me?" 

Nick panics, a little. 

"Seggy's not going to eat you," chimes in a familar voice. Roope and Nick aren't close, from the A, but at least around his own teammates he knows where he stands. 

"Nothing," Nick says, and he can't look Seguin in the face. "It's just--"

"Yeah, welcome up, eh" Seguins says, breaking into a grin, shaking out his wings. Tyler Seguin's wings are white, and that's a classic wing color, white as ice, white as snow on an outdoor rink. He pats Nick on the shoulder as he goes. 

Roope's wings could almost be white. They're kind of unreal, and Nick thinks he manages to get the correct length of looking there. Roope's wings are silvery and kind of unearthly. Roope's wings are beautiful, and they seem to shimmer in the light, and even in a whole locker room full of wings, his stand out. 

"You're staring again," Dicky says, nudging Nick's side. "You'll get yours, you know."

Nick turns back to him. Dicky's wings are white, his primaries banded with victory green. That's a pretty normal combination, banding with team colors. "I--" 

He can't just say that _Roope's wings are shiny_ or some shit; that would make him sound shallow and easily-distracted. 

"It's alright," he continues. "Are you hoping for a color?" 

"Green," Nick says. They're the Stars.

"Like Miro's?" Miro's feathers are victory green, iridescent with black and white like a hummingbird. 

"No, that's too flashy," Nick says, putting on a grin. "I could do with some camo." 

Dicky rolls his eyes. 

Nick's rapt with playing in The Show, and it's good, even when he gets sent down and called up again. And, like, Nick is a hockey player. He can play through a lot of things, and he doesn't feel like he's sick. It's different. He's cold all the time, and the trainers say there's nothing wrong with him. 

He's _itchy_, and he makes the mistake of complaining to Dowls (because Jamie may be his captain now, but he's not completely comfortable with him, just yet), and Dowls laughs and says, "Enjoy molting." 

Nick flushes, and _oh_. 

The thing is: Nick hasn't gotten over looking at Roope's wings. It's ridiculous, but it's also not the worst thing to do in the locker room. He hasn't crossed a line. Everyone's wings are good, sleek like Denis's or majestic and big like the goalies'. He feels like an ugly duckling with the little bits of down he keeps finding in his bed. 

Roope notices, and he's kind enough to wait until they're not surrounded by teammates in the locker room. Nick usually never sees him alone. He's always with the rest of the Finns or with Denis, and it's just weird to be alone with him. He sits next to Nick on the bus, surprising him, and he says, "Okay, you got a problem? I forget someting?" 

"No, it's your wings," he says, quietly.

Roope turns his lip up. 

"You keep yours so good," Nick says. He can't say anything else, and Nick is so itchy, and he doesn't think his will ever fill out so well. Like, Roope's frame him like he's a fucking mythical angel warrior kind of deal, and it's a lot. Roope's buff; they're all fit. It's part of the nature of the thing, but Roope's hot, especially with his wings out, and his tattoos peek out under his sleeve, and Nick does not look at him. It's embarrassing. "Like, your flow's so nice, too, but your wings are like--"

Roope laughs, leans back into the seat. He stretches out, and Nick does not look at the way his thigh look in his skinny jeans. "You want tips? Can't help your flow, but wings, just maybe." 

Nick doesn't know what possess him to say, "Yeah. That would be nice." 

Nick's wings aren't fully developed. They're more like sticks and stubs, with some feathering coming in, mostly down now. He doesn't know what color they are, just yet, and like---Roope comes over to Nick's hotel room one day, and Nick feels this irrational need to show his best face or whatever. It's dumb. Roope's seen hotel rooms with hockey players before.

"So what do you do?" Nick takes a breath. "Because like, you can't reach your own wings." 

"Get a friend," Roope suggests. He rolls his eyes, and he also says, "I also have this thing, I'll show you later, but for now, ask someone, you know?" 

Roope has like, a fucking case full of fancy carved wood tools, and Nick looks at him. "I have a guy," Roope says, and then he gets his fucking wings out, undressing as casually as in the locker room. Nick, for a second, wonders if this is like, a Finnish thing. Esa casually changes on the plane, too. But it's still a problem. Nick thinks they can blind him, honestly, and it's always a little hard to look at Roope. There's a moment where Roope just sits on chair they provided NIck in his room, at the table, and Nick doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do. Roope points to his silvery feathers. 

Oh, Nick should get his out, and it's weird, the feeling of air against his sensitive shoulders. 

"Not bad," Roope says, and Nick thinks he's blushing hard enough that Roope can see it all the way down his back. 

Nick really doesn't pay attention to what Roope's saying, more focused on the way his hands deftly unlatch the case full of tools, and nothing looks sharp or hard. Roope goes so fast, and he runs through each what of those things are for, a brush, a comb, and the most important: oil and moisturizer. 

Nick lies down on bed, and like, his wings are terrible. They're not really even wings, and no one can even like tell him when they're supposed to be full-grown. But Roope says, "So oil them, and they itch less." 

He nods. 

Roope's hands on his wings are like--It's fucking perfect. Nick bites his lip. The oil is warm, and like, their wings aren't quite the same as other limbs, but Roope's hands are soft, and Nick thinks he just about melts. It's maybe five minutes, and then Roope's pulling away, brushing off his wings with a fancy brush. "That's good." 

"Thanks, Roope," Nick manages not to strangle the words in his throat. 

"No problem." Roope turns, and his hair fucking flips, all golden in the light, and it lays artfully on his shoulder. "I text you about the stuff, maybe, and you can ask someone until I teach you to do it yourself." 

"Right," and Nick says, "Just like when someone washes your hair for you." 

Roope laughs. "Exactly like that." 

He might wake up one day with his full-grown set, and he's going to make the NHL for real, and they're going to be his _wings_ one day, but until then, he has the itchiness of emerging wings to live through. He thinks about Roope's hands in his wings, and the upturn of his smirk, and Nick thinks he might be in trouble.

But maybe Roope would want to help him out with his wings until then. It couldn't hurt to ask.


End file.
